A kilt-wearing warrior stood at the foot of a vast plain, a valley betwixt two of the great highlandish nation's mountains, and placed her hands to her hips, examining such a valley. She wore above said kilt, technically a woman-kilt, a bright green shirt, overlaid with a militaristic-looking red jacket, marked with various things, namely a badge that said "Marching Band of the Army of Carraig." Quite a mouthful to say but an eloquent mouthful, certainly. As well, she boasted insignia designating her rank as Captain. Captain Molly Julissa Maria McCafferty! She really didn't do much, in the eyes of many, given she was simply a member of the military's marching band (and a local celebrity, in her own right) but she knew that what she did was more than JUST playing music while everyone else fought!

That's why half of her instruments doubled as shotguns.

But aside from that, her band provided morale to the troops they served, and kept the enemy at bay with awe-inspiring, fear-striking, and overall, near-perfect performance. To attain that perfection, she liked to make her band practice. A LOT. Because as band director, she couldn't let them slack off! So she figured she should work these two in particular on this day. The two on the ground in front of her were doing push-ups. Not because they were disobedient, she just wanted to see if they could do push-ups properly or not. TURNS OUT THEY COULD. And here she'd thought Zayne was all flabby in the belly, and Tulon never got out of his piano contraption thing!

"...and down! Forty-eight! And down! Forty-nine! C'mon, boyos, you c'n do'it!~ Down! Aaaaand Fifty!~ Good job, good job!~" She grinned a radiant smile at them as they presumably got to their feet, and kicked them if they didn't. Of course, it might have inspired them to work harder had she been doing the push-ups as well... But why do that? No, instead, she stood in the sun's magnificent lighting, posed heroically, looking somewhat like a character in a movie. William Wallace in Braveheart, perhaps. But manlier, and yet infinitely more feminine, at the same time. Somehow. "Mkay, now go grab yer instruments, we're playing th' Creig National Anthem~"

Ahh, the national anthem... It really was one of her favorite songs, and it showed as she played the bagpipes, which she'd brought with her JUST FOR THE OCCASION. Behind her, she'd called in the Creig drumline to play as well, leaving Zayne and Tulon to play their own parts in her arrangement of the song, accommodating a full band. It always sounded much nicer with the whole band playing, though, especially with the vocals, which, alas, Molly couldn't perform herself, due to playing the bagpipes. Such an important instrument in this song, though! Couldn't be left out in favor of vocals. Eh, either way.

The song went on for a bit, until coming to a rather nice (and epic) close, at which point, Molly set down her bagpipes. "Band! At ease~" She pondered thoughts for a bit. Hmmm... What would they practice next... Hmmm...

"Mkay, I think you guys still need a bit more practice, but I'm not sure whatcha need ta practice right now... Ideas?~ Best suggestion gets two extra tacos next break!~" Tacos. The elixir of life. And the best incentive to think of awesome ideas so she didn't have to!

Molly will be seen speaking in a GHASTLY Creig accent, Creig (Coral), and in a slightly less HORRID Esparian accent, Esparian (Purple) and Amestrian (Cyan). She also dabbles a little in Ishvallan (Red), which she speaks in her VILE Creig accent, and accented Calish in its own accent, also TERRIBLE.

A not-so-warrior-like man stood in the vast valley. Blue sky, green grass, fluffy white clouds – all of the beautiful stuff a one Zayne O’Reilly couldn’t see. He did have enough information to gather that it wasa a nice day. The breeze felt nice, and Zayne was beginning to be able to tell the difference between rain grey skies and grey skies that were actually blue to everyone else. Still, though, he often got rained on often. Zayne stared around the area. Sometimes he wished he could see colors like everyone else, he had been told about the many things he had been missing but he didn’t understand it. He was told that it made things brighter and livelier. It would have been nice to see this particular field in color, as it was pretty enough in grey-scale.

Shaking away thoughts of what he could and couldn’t see, Zayne turned his attention to his band instructor. He wasn’t as excited about being there as Molly seemed to be. The band was here to be the supporting force behind their country’s fighting force. The red-haired man could barely hold back an eye roll. Of course they would be morale support, as they all looked foolish with their skir- KILTS! The attire was traditional and nice looking, but one redhead would have much preferred to be in pants or just SOMETHING else. Kilts were great, just on anyone else besides him. Grumbling to himself, he tried not to fiddle with the fabric. He didn’t need to run laps, as he was almost sure Molly would make him do if she caught him moving at attention. He really hated running, almost as much as he hated pushups.

Speaking of pushups…there came the demand for fifty of them. Zayne glanced towards the man to his right and had to hold back an annoyed grumble. They hadn’t moved, that much Zayne was sure of. He was also quite sure that the woman had only wanted them to do pushups for her own personal enjoyment. Getting onto his hands, Zayne shot a glare at Molly. “Don’t look up my skir-…kilt.” He grumbled, mainly to himself as he averted his gaze back towards the ground The most he had spoken in perhaps a week and it was a warning that was probably needless. He wasn’t about to put it past her, though. His irritation only grew when he noted that Ms. McCafferty wasn’t moving to get down onto the ground. Zayne would have mentioned how unfair it was, but the thought of doing fifty more pushups shut him up.

Fourty eight…fourty nine….fifty! Zayne sighed deeply when the exertion was over with and got to his feet, brushing bits of grass from his hands as he stood. His arms were shaking slightly when he finally dropped them to his sides and awaited Molly’s next command. He raised a brow at her, to many she would have appeared heroic or magnificent or something of that sort but to Zayne she just looked proud to have not had to do the exercise. Shaking his head just the tiniest bit, Zayne followed her instructions and moved to the sidelines to retrieve his trumpet. The national anthem, what a beautiful song it was, though unfortunately no one was around to sing the vocals. Molly was playing the bagpipes and couldn’t do it, and Zayne certainly wasn’t going to sing. Definitely not. He hardly spoke, he was not about to sing. If anyone wanted the vocals, then Tulon – was that his name, Zayne wondered – could do it.

Bringing his trumpet down from his lips once the song ended, Zayne shifted his left foot out, keeping his right foot in place once Molly gave them an “at ease”. Don’t move the right foot, no talking. That’s what that meant. Not like Zayne was one for talking anyway though. Waiting patiently for Molly to continue with the commands, Zayne glanced towards Tulon and gave a curt nod in acknowledgement. He had yet to talk with the guy – though, knowing Zayne it probably wouldn’t be much of a conversation anyway – but he did know at least that his name was Tulon, as that was what Molly had called him.

Zayne turned back to Molly when she spoke again, speaking of even more practice. Zayne blinked. They could always go inside and practice the music. It would at least mean sitting down for a moment. He’d never admit to it, but the marching and the pushups and the running were wearing him out. The instructor then mentioned tacos. One corner of Zayne’s lips turned up slightly. He was certainly a sucker for tacos, but only if they had an abundance of sour cream to top them off. A taco was not a taco without cheese and sour cream. Ah, winner of the suggestion got two extra tacos, eh? Zayne wasn’t about to contribute his two-cents until she mentioned that. “Could always go to a bar. Music always sounds better when yer fallin’ off yer stool.” He rolled his eyes, he was being a very sarcastic smartass, he didn’t drink. Now, if Molly liked that idea, he was in trouble.

Last edited by Zayne O'Reilly on Tue Aug 06, 2013 11:47 am; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : spacing issues)

Ah, Zayne. Zinadaine Zayne Zidayne-Za-Zayne. Zaynebabwe, Zayne Zayne ZAYNE. Possibly one of Molly's personal favorites of the marching band (yes, she picks favorites. Deal with it.) He was always so cranky, or at the very least, brooding. Which sounded nothing like something Molly would enjoy being around, as that's essentially her exact antithesis, but STILL. Below that layer of silent brooding and potential angst, she knew he had a layer of LOVE AND HAPPINESS. And abs. Rock hard abs; nobody did push-ups like those without having fine abs. Speaking of push-ups, as mentioned in the above post, SHE DEMANDED FIDDY OF'EM. Because they amused her, for one, and they were totally a legit way to make her band DISCIPLINED. Was toats her band, to boot. Not Gavin's band, nor the official band of Carraig, ALLLLL HEEEEERSSSSSSS. So she claimed when Gavin wasn't around to hear her and make fun of her silly claims.

At any rate, her band DID amuse her so, as Zayne grumbled about looking up his kilt. "Ye're goin' traditional, then, eh?~ Tee-hee, naughty, naughty, Baba O'Reilley~" And there she went with the Who references again. Per usual. But hey, could one call themself a musical expert and connoisseur, WITHOUT making terrible puns and references nobody else will get? Well... Yeah, probably... But still, Molly did the OPPOSITE of what was probable! So improbable is she! And of course, she then did what was improbable, by doing the likely thing of NOT doing pushups with the band! Because they'd have EXPECTED her to do so!

Anyways, skip to after the song, and whatnot, and Molly relinquished her heroic presence to her usual somewhat adorable hyperactive kitten-esque stance or whatever. However one may choose to describe her personality, anyways. She was a little disheartened to see that Zayne hadn't sung along with the anthem. Despite the fact his trumpet part paralleled the vocal part anyways, and he was KINDA PLAYING A BRASS INSTRUMENT. Makes it rather difficult to sing, y'know? She'd get him to sing later. AT LEAST HE SPOKE, THOUGH.

And as he did, she had to really ponder his idea. WELL. She did love to drink (what proper Crieg doesn't?) And it was certainly not a form of practice, but hey, it was uh... BONDING. Yeah, yeah, bonding. Have to be all unified and such to be a band, y'know? Totally. "Hmm... Well, tha's a good idea. Tulon, whaddaye-... Oh." And it seemed Tulon had wandered off somewhere. Odd, but okay. Eh, he was a detective, she'd let it slide.

FOR NOW.

She blinked. "Erm... Well, okay then, Zayne, I s'pose we're the only two then. Ahwell, it'll be fun, even with just us, eh?~ Race ya t'me car!~ It's where the tacos are." With a sneaky grin, she dashed off first, actually KNOWING where her car was. Not like it wasn't obvious which car it was; only one bright red and green sports car decorated with music notes and such... All that mattered however, had nothing to do with the fairness of the race! It had to do with the tacos in the backseat!

Molly will be seen speaking in a GHASTLY Creig accent, Creig (Coral), and in a slightly less HORRID Esparian accent, Esparian (Purple) and Amestrian (Cyan). She also dabbles a little in Ishvallan (Red), which she speaks in her VILE Creig accent, and accented Calish in its own accent, also TERRIBLE.

Zayne felt his face heat up and he looked away, glaring into the distance. He wasn’t even going to reply to that. He could let Ms. McCafferty believe whatever she wanted to believe about what he was or wasn’t wearing. In fact, he wouldn’t even have had to worry about something like that if Molly had gotten down and done the pushups as well. Instead she stood by and watched like some cruel slave driver. Yep, that’s what Zayne was definitely going to regard her as. A tiny slave driver that had too much fun turning people’s names into musical puns. Zayne really should have seen that coming, given his last name and the fact that he was in the band. He could only sigh in response to her.

“I’m not a song. Nor is this a teenage wasteland.” He muttered to himself, though it was loud enough that Molly probably could have heard him. He hadn’t meant to reply to that, as he didn’t want to draw it out into a conversation, but really? Zayne grimaced internally, if she was already making stupid puns with his name, what would she do if she found out he was colorblind? Zayne tried not to think about it. Given what he had gathered about the woman already, he was sure she’d make the music rainbow-centered just to annoy him. As for the music they had just played – Zayne wished he could have sat the trumpet down and sang the lyrics. Not because he enjoyed singing, God no, but because his arms were still protesting at the agony of doing fifty pushups. But it was either hold the instrument up or sing, and Zayne definitely did NOT sing.

When Zayne suggested that they go out for drinks he wasn’t really expecting his words to be taken seriously. He was being sarcastic, in reality he just wanted to go home. But really, music was said to be a lot better sounding when one was staggering off their stool and flailing about on the floor like a confused fish. Actually, anything was better when drunk. But things were always worse the next morning. Zayne internally cringed, remembering the last time he had gotten hammered. Waking up with a horrible headache and tattoos on one’s face was never fun.

"Hmm... Well, tha's a good idea. Tulon, whaddaye-... Oh."

Of course his sarcasm would come to bite him in the ass, as it appeared that Tulon had just disappeared. How he had snuck away in the middle of practice was something to question. Zayne could only wish he was the one that was missing instead.

“Erm... Well, okay then, Zayne, I s'pose we're the only two then. Ahwell, it'll be fun, even with just us, eh?~ Race ya t'me car!~ It's where the tacos are.”

“Huh?....No, I…” Crap, crap, crap. This wasn’t like he had planned. Actually, he hadn’t planned anything. He was hoping that Tulon had a better idea. Zayne guessed that this was what he got for saying what he did though. He was caught up for a second in thinking about his predicament that he failed to notice what Molly had even said, though he did catch something about tacos and a car. Oh, and the fact that she had suddenly bolted off in some direction.

"Wha? Hey! Wait!” Now his mother always told him not to run with a trumpet, and yet there Zayne was, sprinting across the field after Molly. Yep, that’s right. Zayne was running. What? He could have fun if he really wanted to! It had to have been the kilt. That’s what made him take off across the field after Molly. He even had a stupid little grin on his face, something he didn’t even realize was there. Then came a problem, Zayne realized when he surged forward and passed Molly. Finding her car. He had no idea what she drove and all of the cars looked alike. Poor guy couldn’t even tell the difference in the cars that were there and the brightly painted car that belonged to his instructor. They were all gray scale. That bright red convertible? Gray. That blue van? Gray. That gray car….wait… Slowing down and blinking, Zayne realized sadly that he wasn’t getting those tacos, at least not as many as he had been hoping for.

Reaching the parking lot and panting, Zayne stood and waited for Molly – who couldn’t have been too far away. “Hurry up. Which one’s yours?” He then pointed towards a black motorcycle. “That’s mine.” His motorcycle wasn’t even that far away. He’d just have to walk away slowly and she’d never notice. Heck, she hadn’t noticed Tulon sneak away. Zayne could totally make a run for it. Molly could go get drunk on her own time, by herself. And yet… at the same time… Zayne was rather curious. Sighing mentally, Zayne gave up and decided to go along with her. What was the worst that could happen?

Ah, how Molly amused herself with the words that Zayne spoke, within her own mind. Silly boy; of course he was a song! And it was totally a Teenage Wasteland! Despite there being no teenagers present at the moment. It didn't even matter, hahaha!~ Because nothing really matters~ Anyone can seeeee~ Nothing really matters~ To meeeeeeee!~ Any way the wind blooooooows!~

...

She really had to stop spacing out and mentally singing to herself, it was a rather awkward silence that usually accompanied this state of in-the-zone-ness. As it were, she zoned BACK IN, only to see the horrified, somewhat jealous, expression on Zayne's face as he realized Tulon was absent from the opinion-gathering, thus making booze to ONLY viable option. Oh, he shouldn't be worrying so much- he wasn't the one paying the bar tab!~

As if that were his concern... Ah well! Moments later, they were sprinting across the parking lot, Zayne following being Molly, obviously weighed down by his trumpet and the muscle strain of push-ups. Though with those abs, he should be able to run endlessly, at whatever speed he wanted to run, truefax. Yet somehow she beat him, as she tagged her car, grinning back to him. "This one's mine~ Can't ye tell? It's red and green, and has all the music notes on the sides! Silly boy~" It figured he had a motorcycle, she mentally noted, as she climbed into the driver's seat, reaching behind her for the tacos. He looked like a motorcyclist.

"Okay then, Zinadaine Zi-Zayne, let's have a party!~ Whoo!~" And let the fun.

Molly will be seen speaking in a GHASTLY Creig accent, Creig (Coral), and in a slightly less HORRID Esparian accent, Esparian (Purple) and Amestrian (Cyan). She also dabbles a little in Ishvallan (Red), which she speaks in her VILE Creig accent, and accented Calish in its own accent, also TERRIBLE.

Awkward silences were never fun. In fact, they were rather awkward. Zayne just continued to stare at the woman in front of him. She seemed to be spacing out. He had heard about people having silent seizures where they just sort of stood there and gazed off into space and whatnot. Zayne would have cared about her wellbeing – maybe – if he hadn’t been much more concerned with the fact that he might have been able to escape at that moment. Curse that Tulon fellow. The tacos sounded great, but Zayne figured that he could have run away and got a taco on his own. As for alcohol, he didn’t need it.

He still wasn’t very sure what had caused him to sprint after her. Perhaps it was the tacos. Maybe, if Zayne would ever admit it to himself, he would realize that maybe it was rather fun to do spontaneous things. Of course, Zayne would never realize this. He just didn’t understand the concept of fun, even when he was unknowingly enjoying himself. As for their race, he meant to lose like that. He had held back on purpose. Yeah, that was it. After stopping, Zayne stared in Molly’s direction. She was stopped at a car that he assumed was hers.

“This one's mine~ Can't ye tell? It's red and green, and has all the music notes on the sides! Silly boy~”

Zayne blinked at it. Yes, how couldn’t he tell? It was two different shades of grey and now that he looked closer he could see the darker looking notes adorning the sides. Pulling down a strand of his hair in front of his face, he studied it. Yes, he’d been told this was red. He then looked back towards the car, trying to discern which color was which. Squinting slightly, Zayne simply dropped his hand to his side. He had no idea which was which; they were all the same shade of the same color. Grey, he’d been told, was that color. Like he knew. Narrowing his eyes and glaring in a direction past Molly, Zayne nodded, his jaw set in frustration. “Of course. I just…didn’t see it.” He stated, somewhat dryly. It was only a partial lie really. He had seen all of the cars, he had just failed to notice the brightly colored, music coated, car that was Molly’s.

“Okay then, ZinadaineZi-Zayne, let's have a party!~ Whoo!~”

Hold on. What? What had she just called him? Zayne blinked at her words as she got into her car. Zina- what? His eye twitched slightly as he opened his door and got into the passenger seat. There was no turning back at this point. Had he been paying attention to what she said past the whole “ZinadaineZi-Zayne” nonsense, he would have heard her mention a party. That, no doubt, would have scared him. Why he was going with her anywhere was still a mystery. Zayne laughed, a mirthless sound accidentally slipping through his lips. The last time he’d been out drinking with anyone he’d let them tattoo his face. Waking up that next morning had nearly killed him when he looked in the mirror – oh and the hangover was pretty killer as well.

Zayne was having second thoughts on going places with her. He knew how it ended with alcohol. How it always ended when alcohol was involved. He really didn’t need to wake up in the morning in the bathroom hugging a toilet or with any more art projects embedded in his skin. His silent mind-protests were quickly silenced though, when he caught a whiff of the wonderfully unmistakable smell of tacos. He had almost forgotten why he had even gotten into the car in the first place and there was his answer right there. He couldn’t even hide the grin that slowly stretched across his face as he reached over and took one from Molly, sighing lightly in contentment when he bit into it. Fastening his seatbelt, Zayne placed his trumpet in the backseat. This couldn’t be too horrid. “Partying…” He shrugged, not realizing that a tiny smirk had wormed its way onto his face. Then came those famous last words of utmost wisdom…

He hadn't seen it? Hadn't seen her car? The tartan-patterned sports car with a musical staff wrapping around the bottom sides of the car!? A noticeably brightly colored car, which CLEARLY matched the woman-kilt she was wearing!?!? ...Kay!

Clearly, her car wasn't blatantly obvious enough! She would have to decorate it more at some point. That way everybody would know whose car it was! Especially certain trumpet players who should totally have known it was her car, except it clearly wasn't Molly enough yet! Though really, he should've smelled the tacos in the back seat.

They were rather awesome tacos, homemade from scratch, and stuffed with chicken and pork, with lots of cheese, sour cream, and herbs and such. Guacamole and salsa, as well. A family recipe, they were, and they were clearly Esparian tacos, rather than the Cretan variety, which are much less amazing, though still good. Actually, she was way hungry right now, she needed a taco or two. Reaching backwards, she grabbed for a pair of them, handing one to Zayne, before taking a bite of her own. "Need a post-practice snack, before we get to th' bar~ Watch out, though, they've got a bit of a kick."

Hopefully, he could handle himself well with spicy foods. Hopefully.

Anyways, as she started up the car and pulled out of her spot, she heard Zayne laugh, which infectiously drew a laugh from her as well, before something occurred to her. "Heeeey... That's the first time I saw ye laugh~ Haha, gotcha!~" Victory was hers! She'd finally heard Zayne laugh! She zipped down the highway, grinning from her obvious win, as Zayne thought aloud to himself. And with such great timing, too, as Molly pulled into the parking lot. "Shall we?~" On to party time!~

Molly will be seen speaking in a GHASTLY Creig accent, Creig (Coral), and in a slightly less HORRID Esparian accent, Esparian (Purple) and Amestrian (Cyan). She also dabbles a little in Ishvallan (Red), which she speaks in her VILE Creig accent, and accented Calish in its own accent, also TERRIBLE.

All of the tacos Zayne had ever eaten were the industrialized probably-not-even-made-of-meat things that people liked to call tacos. What he had only assumed to be real tacos before were dry and fake in comparison to the glorious flavors within the food that Molly had offered him. Chicken, pork, cheese, spices, everything a taco wouldn't be complete without. Sour cream as well, of course! A taco would not be complete without sour cream. The salsa was a good addition, as was the guacamole. He could have sworn he tasted a hint of oregano, but he couldn't be too sure with the array of flavors dancing across his pallet.

He was warned of a kick, and had no idea as to what in the taco could possibly be that spicy until he felt the burn. He hadn't been expecting that, even when she did warn him about it. He wasn’t too much a friend of spicy things. Naturally he coughed in an attempt to catch his breath. Whatever she had put in those things was killing him, burning his tongue and scorching his insides. Coughing a bit more, trying to look casual even though his eyes were red and watery, Zayne took another bite of the taco and was prepared for the kick. It didn’t make it any less spicy, but at least this time he knew what to expect. Regardless of the fact that they had almost killed him there, he had to admit that they were the best tacos he’d ever eaten. “You made these?” He asked, glancing at her slightly as he got himself back under control. He had asked a question, though it really came out as a statement. He looked at her, features set like normal, until his lip twitched up on its own accord. “They’re, uh, they’re pretty good.” He nodded, smothering his awkwardness with a finishing bite of the food. So much for savoring it, the whole thing was gone in just a few moments.

Zayne was quite content on the way to the bar “party” thing that he didn’t even notice that he had laughed. Zayne sighed and pouted slightly, though he was unaware that he was doing so. He raised a finger to his cheek and rubbed at one of the small upside down triangles. “Don’t let anyone tattoo your face.” He grumbled under his breath to Molly, though he was speaking mostly to himself. He didn’t need one of those episodes again. He decided already that he wasn’t going to indulge in the drinking. He was going along with her to simply accompany her while she did whatever she was going to do. He’d even be the designated driver if need be.

And so they arrived at the bar. It looked rather nice, not exactly what Zayne was expecting. What had he been expecting? Probably something a bit more run down, with a drunkard puking on the sidewalk outside. Thankfully, there were none of those around. Zayne opened his door slowly and got out, smoothing down his man-kilt. Dear lord, why didn’t he change before he got in the car with her? This was ridiculous. A light blush donned his face, though he tried to hide it by appearing casual. He failed though, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, an angry scowl on his face, and a light pink dusting across his cheeks. Grumbling to no one in particular, Zayne turned and made his way to the door of the bar/restaurant/whatever that place was. “Don’t even say a word.” He growled.